Fated Rendezvous
by Ms. Imperfection
Summary: A smoky bar in Luca and a very depressed Leblanc. Drunk, she falls into the arms of a mysterious man, almost literally. Too bad he seems none to pleased. My interpretation of Nooj and Leblanc's first meeting.


A/N: There isn't a lot of history given on Leblanc---which makes writing fiction set in the past a bit difficult. As you'll soon see, I'm taking some artistic liberties with her character. I, personally, can see her as having been a "daddy's little girl" to some rich old coot, only to suddenly be cut off. Think Rachel from F.R.I.E.N.D.S. ^_~ 

Also, I'm not exactly sure at what point in time I'm plopping this in. The timeline of FFX-2, especially concerning Nooj, has a tendency to confuse me. I'd say this is after his time with the Crusaders, meaning he's lost two limbs, but before the Crimson Squad, as to avoid any tricky possession. Shuyin is cute and evil, but I don't want to have to tackle him while trying to focus on Leblanc and her Noojie. 

Also, please note that this interpretation of their meeting is purely a product of my imagination. I dunno how it really happened, and unless I missed something in the game, it was never said. This is just to clear things up for anyone who may be confused. 

As always, Enjoy.

~*~

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"I'm sorry, but we have to let you go."

The words ran over and over in her head, chasing one another like rowdy children.

__

"Sorry, but we have to let you go."

She slammed her glass down onto the bar top, causing glass and ice-cubes to clink noisily together. Sorry her ass! If they were sorry, she wouldn't suddenly be unemployed!

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"Have to let you go..."

Her! Her of all people! What had the world come to when a loyal, vibrant young woman full of energy couldn't keep a job? Shit, that's what.

Leblanc snorted none too daintily, proud shoulders finally giving in and slouching. Her long, slender frame sank slowly, until her upper body was sprawled across the bar. Somewhere in the distance, a grubby man surrounded by cigarette smoke admired how her breasts pressed against the wood surface, threatening to spill out of her top. Leblanc, meanwhile, amused herself by watching cubes of ice slowly melt and dilute the coppery liquid contained within her glass. Truthfully, she wasn't even sure what it was. She hadn't been paying much attention when she ordered, expect to say, "Something hard."

It's what she'd gotten; hard and bitter, burning as it slid down her throat. Next time, she'd stop being quite so preoccupied with self-pity and take the time to order something she actually liked. If there was a next time. What was left of her meager severance pay was quick in disappearing.

Leblanc hicced, then pouted. It wasn't that working for one of Rin's Travel Agency's had been all that glamorous. In fact, she'd hated her job from the moment she'd been hired; the day daddy-dearest had finally gotten the crazy inclination that she ought to be learning to take care of herself. He was rich and she was only a sapling of twenty-one. Where he'd gotten the silly notion that she should suddenly be forced to into the role of "grown-up", she'd never know.

Not that that unfortunate occurrence in her life had at all influenced her attitude while working. No, never. She'd loved severing the people instead of being served. Really.

Some bleak part of her mind tried to summon forth a metaphor, something to do about water under bridges. Blonde brows knitted together in inebriated confusion. After all, she wasn't near any bridge, and the closest thing around that resembled water was... her empty glass? When had it gotten emptied? Damn Luca lowlifes! Must have stolen the last of her drink when she hadn't been looking.

"Bartender," she began, voice husky. "Get me another?"

The barkeep, a broad man who looked to be of Kilikan decent, shot her a wary glance. He paused in his task of wiping glasses clean, head tilted slightly to one side.

"I think you've had quite enough, ma'am."

Leblanc nearly growled, nails digging into the splintered bar-top. Carefully applied nailpolish chipped, leaving pink streaks behind in the wake of her fingers.

"When I give a damn what you think, I'll be sure to notify you," she spat, inching her glass forward with the palm of her hand. "Furthermore, don't call me ma'am! It makes me sound old."

The barkeep opened his mouth to retort, but suddenly thought better of it. With a roll of his eyes he took her glass, turning to refill it. Leblanc smirked triumphantly, leaning back on her stool. That was more like it!

She'd never know at what point, exactly, that she'd lost her balance. All she knew was that she was suddenly flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling. It wasn't even a particularly interesting ceiling. There were a few fans and some dark spots that suggested leakage. It was hardly a Sistine Chapel.

Hmm. Maybe she really _had_ drank a few too many?

Reaching up, Leblanc grabbed a barstool for support, slowly pulling herself back up. As she stood the world spun around her, trying to lurch her back down to the floor. She glared at it, offendedly, as if it were a lecherous man trying to force himself upon her. She sent a glance in the bartender's direction, found his back to be turned to her, and absently thought about running out on her bill. Unfortunate for her, drunken feet don't move quickly, and her wrist was suddenly seized by a firm grip.

"That'll be thirty-two gil, ma'am," said the man, pointedly. She once again found herself pouting as she tossed her purse onto the bar. Satisfied, the man retracted his hand and took his fee, leaving her with a whopping two gil for the road.

Leblanc felt frustrated tears stinging in her eyes.

To any onlooker, it would have appeared as if the leggy blonde were trying to cross a sheet of ice on her way to the door. Each step was taken very slowly, carefully, though her foot never failed to wobble just slightly each time it met the floor. She'd been drinking for the past three hours, and now her body felt as if it were ready to give out on her. She wanted to snap her fingers and have a well-dressed servant come and carry her off. Her fingers even went as far to thoughtlessly click together, but no one came.

When she fell for the second time, there was yet again no one there to catch her. This time, even the floor had deserted her for something... _something_ much higher up, hard and unforgiving against her ribcage as she was sprawled over it.

"Mmmmeh," she mumbled, unintelligibly, lifting herself up just enough to find out what it was she was resting upon.

It was a lap.

Leblanc fought the urge to giggle, as it was most definitely a man's lap. What she found most strange, however, was that one leg almost appeared to be metal. She shook her head, a frown twitching at the corners of her lips. Must have been another drunken illusion. Never the less, she was now very curious, and lifted her head in order to place a leg with a face in her mind.

The lap's owner was... was... 

__

...Chiseled, handsome, _austere..._

Strange. His upper body was swathed in a maroon jumpsuit, tight fitting, with the zipper half-undone in order to expose a sliver of his chest. There was an odd sort of fur lining around his left shoulder, one that seemed slightly goofy and out-of-place with his serious demeanor. His face had a statuesque quality to it, but whether it was because his facial expression was so hard or because his was a carved attractiveness, she couldn't quite decide. His hair was long and chestnut brown; some of it hung in wavy strands around his face while the rest was pulled up at the back of his head. A ceiling light positioned directly above him bathed his form in light, casting an ethereal glow around his head.

The word 'Shiny' came to mind, and she instantly giggled.

The man arched a dark brow as he peered down at the blonde in his lap, one who didn't appear to be in any hurry to move. She was most obviously shitfaced, as there was a permanent grin on her lips that seemed to come with inebriation. Her head lolled to one side in a curious, bird-like fashion, her russet eyes searching his face. Nooj opened his mouth to speak, but the woman beat him to it.

"You... have a very uncomfortable lap." She proclaimed, though she still made no effort to change position.

"Good. Then perhaps you might be so inclined as to move?" Nooj suggested, finding that his eyebrow was twitching the faintest bit. The woman shook her head, the action sending the world into yet another spin.

"Can't do that, love. I have to wait for my bearings to come back." She stated, matter-of-factly. Drunkenly, she batted her eyelashes at him. "What's your hurry, anyway? Is having a pretty woman on your lap really such a bad thing?"

"I didn't ask to be your chair," replied Nooj, voice curt and clipped. Leblanc pouted.

"Why, You... You..." Leblanc trailed off, currently at a loss for good insults. Angrily, she went to push herself up, only to wobble on her feet. This time, however, her body was dead-set on pulling her backwards. The man's lap wouldn't be there to break her fall.

Right then and there, Nooj decided that he didn't like this drunken woman very much. Of course, to anyone who knew him---and there were but a scarce few who did---this wouldn't have come as much of a surprise. The Deathseeker generally disliked most people with a pulse. What _did_ come as unexpected was his next course of action. It even surprised him on some level, as he had been mutely amused with the thought of watching her fall on her ass. 

And yet, against his own will, he held his good arm out and caught her around the waist.

A foreign, giddy sort of feeling flashed through Leblanc as she was pulled back to him, her cheek pressed against the warmth of his exposed chest. The heat traveled from flesh to flesh, stirring up a delightful rosy tint in her cheeks. Nooj stared down at the woman whom he was technically embracing, her lovely brown eyes staring up at him in wonder, face slightly flushed. If he had been any other man, he would have found her highly attractive.

Leblanc, meanwhile, was lost in many hazy thoughts. The world still felt as if it were wobbling just slightly around her and, for extra assurance, she snaked her arms around the mysterious man's mid-section. He stiffened.

"Something wrong, love?" she asked, trying to sound as seductive as she could; what resulted was more of a slur than anything else.

Nooj sighed, slowly pulling himself to a stand while still supporting her weight. It wasn't an easy task when you couldn't feel half of your body. It made him feel as if he were no longer in complete control of himself, and that thought drove Nooj crazy.

"I think it's time you went home, Miss," said Nooj, trying to be as cordial as he could muster. The woman was silent for a long while, her gaze having finally dropped away from his.

Some part of her wanted to protest, even though she had been meaning to leave before she had literally fallen into his lap. He was just so, well, he was...

__

Handsome and enigmatic and just the slightest bit infuriating.

And she wanted to know more. Especially his name, she thought, slightly amused. Once she left she may never see him again, and she would be doomed to swoon the rest of her life over the no-name that got away.

Returning her gaze to his, her eyes half-lidded out of a combination of faux seduction and fatigue, Leblanc looked up at him imploringly.

"Walk me to the door?" she asked, her voice sounding adorably childlike in that moment. Nooj fought the urge to frown, though he still looked none to pleased. Frankly, he didn't want to. He was the least likely to be mistaken as a white knight, going out of his way to help a woman in distress. Or, in his case, a woman drunk off her ass. But he did it anyway, for reasons he cared not to analyze.

Leblanc allowed herself a self-satisfied smirk as he began leading her to the door. He still supported her around the waist, and her arms remained firmly wrapped around him. As they walked she absently made note of the strong limp in his stride, one that seemed to be caused by the same leg of his she'd found so strange just minutes before. If she ever saw him again, she'd make it a point to ask him about it.

Clearing her throat, she broke the silence between them.

"My name is Leblanc," she stated, looking up at him expectantly. One of his eyebrows quirked upwards, wondering just what she was getting at. When he made no effort to reply, Leblanc decided a more direct approach. "...Well?"

"Well, what?" asked Nooj, obliviously. Women had never been a strong point of his.

"When someone tells you their name, you give them yours in response. It's called an introduction, love." Leblanc replied, her expression somewhat flat.

Nooj determinedly stared straightforward, watching as the space between them and the door rapidly decreased. In but a few moments he'd have her outside, and his obligation to her would be fulfilled. He didn't plan on seeing this woman---Leblanc, his mind corrected---ever again, so why should he give her his name? Introduction's usually led to some sort of bond between people, and making a connection with someone was the last thing he was interested in.

"...Nooj."

Leblanc blinked, then smiled. For a moment there, she had thought he wasn't going to reply at all.

"Nooj," she repeated, letting his name roll around on her tongue. Even without her realizing it, she moved closer to him as he limped forward, resting her head against his shoulder. "I like it..."

Nooj groaned the slightest bit as they exited the tavern, the cool night breeze of Luca washing over them. It was laced with the faintest smell of salt, and yet it still felt deeply refreshing in comparison to the smoky interior they'd just exited. Nooj made to move away from the woman then, slightly disturbed to find that she clung to him even harder. A single magenta-clad arm shot out, pointing to the direction directly in front of them; a silent indication of where she wanted him to take her.

Some part of his mind told him to lurch away from her, tell her that this was the end of the line. But he didn't. And as he limped his way down the alley, leading her silently, he wondered just what it was about this annoying woman that held such power over him. 

And, more importantly, just what the hell he was getting himself into...

~*~

Finished! Yay!

While I suppose this could pretty much stand on it's own, I'm seriously contemplating making a chapter story out of it. I kind of want to make a full set of encounters, taking place at various points in time between Crimson-Squad days to the beginning of FFX-2. While Leblanc strikes me as easily impressionable, I think it would take more than one chance meeting to make her be as devoted to him as she is.

I dunno. What do you guys think?

Anyway, hope you enjoyed! Review, if you're so inclined. You know I love it!

--MsImp


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